Love Me If You Dare
by uniqueuker
Summary: Based on the film Jeux d'enfants. As adults, best friends Quinn and Santana continue the odd game they started as children - a fearless competition to outdo one another with daring and outrageous stunts. While they often act out to relieve one another's pain, their game might be a way to avoid the fact that they are truly meant for one another.


Title: Love Me If You Dare (Part One: Game)

Author: unique_uker

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Quinn/Santana, mentions of Santana/Brittany

Warnings: Character death

Word Count: 7157 (so far, Part Two and Part Three to follow)

Summary: Based on the film Jeux d'enfants. As adults, best friends Quinn and Santana continue the odd game they started as children - a fearless competition to outdo one another with daring and outrageous stunts. While they often act out to relieve one another's pain, their game might be a way to avoid the fact that they are truly meant for one another.

Part One focuses on their childhood past and the beginnings of their game. Part Two leads Quinn and Santana through the canon events and missing moments of Season 3. Part Three follows on from the end of Season 3 into their adult lives.

Author Notes: This fic would be nothing withouthipokras. She has been my beta, cheerleader, friend and slave driver. Everything that is good I owe to her, all remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

Santana liked playing Monopoly, but only when she was the banker. She also loved marbles, because she always won. Santana thought snakes and ladders was dumb: every time she got close to winning, she ended up having to go down a stupid snake and losing. See? Dumb. The last time she tried to solve a Rubik's cube, she threw it out a window. A closed window, and it meant being grounded for a week. But she was pretty good at Simon Says, kickball and hopscotch. And she didn't mind playing kiss chase, so long as Brett Harper wasn't playing, because he smelled and was really weird.

But Santana's favourite game ever, of all time, in the history of the whole world was the game she played with Lucy Fabray.

* * *

The game started with a pretty box, an ugly drawing and a very angry teacher.

No. Actually, it began a little earlier with an even uglier, disgusting, meaningless word -

"Cancer."

The word echoed around the room, but Santana wasn't listening. Her attention was instead focused on the music box sitting on top of her Papi's desk. Santana twisted the small brass key as far as it could turn, watching in awe as the little ballerina danced its frozen pirouette. So pretty. Like that pretty dress Lucy wore to her birthday party last year until Rachel had fallen over and spilt lemonade on it.

The ballerina wasn't like that ugly doctor with his ugly words who kept coming to her house, patronising her with his smile. Santana liked the word "patronising." Her Papi had taught her that after the last time the doctor had visited, but she still didn't trust his smile.

"You like it?" Papi sounded different, as though he'd aged several years, voice cracking faintly. The young girl couldn't take her eyes off the tiny ballerina for even a second, not even to wonder why her Papi would sound like this.

"I love it," she gasped, reaching out to touch the ballerina, but unable to. The music sounded like wind chimes and if she closed her eyes for just a moment, she could imagine a summer breeze.

"Take it." Papi's hands were warm over her own as he placed the music box in her grasp.

Santana looked up at Papi, quickly looking away to see the redness in his eyes. Her gaze concentrated on the music box instead. Clutching it tightly to her chest, she quickly shuffled out of the room. Leaving the grown ups behind with their ugly words, red eyes and wet faces, to go to her own bedroom to dream of ballerinas, wind chimes and that flowery dress Lucy wore on her birthday last year. There was only one small detail to spoil it all... the lemonade.

* * *

There were other ugly words too. Words like, "Yo momma pass out in the grocery store 'cos she was drunk again?" and "I heard yo momma had a fight with that homeless guy so she could get his drink."

As Lucy walked to school, the snide voices followed her like menacing shadows. They were just far enough behind her to be heard, but to also be able to feign innocence if confronted. Refusing to look over her shoulder, she knew their faces lit up as hers grew darker and darker.

The sound of quickening footsteps beat against the pavement made Lucy walk faster. She kept her head down, fiercely pretending to be nonchalant like Daddy had told her to be. "Don't let them know they upset you," he had said, but the unwanted truth in their nasty words brought tears to her eyes. Angrily wiping them away, Lucy clutched her photo album tighter to her chest like a talisman. Soon she would be in class and she could show everyone the smiling, happy photos of her family. Soon everyone would see that her family was perfect and she could escape those disgusting words whilst everyone wished they had a mommy and daddy like hers.

But her bullies were relentless and soon tight fingers dug into her shoulder, spinning her around, forcing her to face them. Like wolves, they encircled her, trapping her.

"What's that you got, Fabray?"

The biggest girl seized the photo album, tossing it over Lucy's head to her lank-haired friend. Lucy jumped in the air, but the album soared just out of reach, and her pathetic attempts only fueled their glee. The cruel laughter crackled through the air and hit her like lightning; her tears fell faster and harder.

"Give it back," Lucy pleaded. She tried to keep her voice steady, but failed miserably. Her voice cracked as she choked back the fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

Lucy wanted to be fierce and brave like Santana. Santana wouldn't have to deal with this, she wouldn't take this from anyone. She'd tell those bullies where to go and they would listen or else feel the whiplash of her wrath. Santana Lopez was unstoppable and no one messed with her.

"You mean this?" A tall blonde girl in a Cheerios uniform waved the album tauntingly in the air and Lucy fought back the desire to jump for it. She watched wide-eyed as the cheerleader threw her precious family album onto the school roof.

"There," she said, satisfied. "We gave it back. We don't have it anymore."

The bullies left victorious, their taunts still ringing in Lucy's ears as the hope drained out of her. No more would she be able to show her class how wonderful her family was. She could never be Santana Lopez, she was Lucy Quinn Fabray.

* * *

Friday was Santana's favourite day at school - Show and Tell day. It meant that she got to stand at the front of the class and talk about whatever she wanted to for five whole minutes and everyone else would have to listen, or else they would get in trouble. Of course, it meant she had to listen to stupid Tina Cohen-Chang stutter about things that bored Santana - like Asian camp, but whatever. It was worth it. Especially on days like today where she would be able to show everyone her amazing music box.

Santana was happily sitting in the desk next to her best friend, beaming at her music box and making a mental checklist of all the things she wanted to tell everyone about it. They were all going to be so jealous.

"What you got for Show and Tell, Lucy?" she asked, not especially interested today. She was positive that it couldn't be more awesome than what she had.

Lucy shrugged silently.

Santana hated being ignored. Hands on her hips, she swivelled towards Lucy, aiming her best death glare at her. (Santana, who had been practicing, knew that it was already pretty lethal. She'd used it before on Emma Nunn, who had then cried in the toilets for half an hour. That had been so much fun.)

But today it didn't seem to work on the only eight year old who could beat Santana at that game. Lucy sat, tight-lipped, in her seat, wearing a yellow sundress, a white cardigan with her white headband, her heart-shaped sunglasses and a scowl.

"You're going to show and tell your... glasses?" Santana guessed, not seeing anything else on her mysteriously empty desk.

Lucy's shoulders jerked in another shrug.

"These glasses?" Santana snapped, grabbing them off Lucy's face and holding them high in the air. It was only when Lucy didn't try to get them back, burying her face in her hands that Santana realised something wasn't right.

"Lucy...?"

"What? Just give those glasses back or - or - I'll never help you with Math again." Lucy's voice was quivering with rage and something deeper.

Santana silently handed back the glasses. Lucy jammed them back on her face, but not before Santana had glimpsed her friend's red, wet eyes. "What happened to you?" the child yelped.

Lucy still said nothing, shrugging and refusing to look at her friend. But Santana could see the tear trickle down her cheek from behind her shielded eyes.

Lucy was always so quiet and guarded. Santana's parents had said it was because she was a good Christian girl. But they had also said other things about Lucy when they didn't think Santana was listening, at night when she should be asleep. Things like "that poor girl", "with a mother like that" and "no way to bring up a child".

"Was it your mami?" Santana asked, barely above a whisper.

The way Lucy jumped you would think Santana had blared a fog horn in her ear. She shook her head rapidly. "No. No. Not Mommy. Mommy's fine," Lucy insisted.

"Then who?" Santana pressed. Whoever it was, Santana would make sure they paid.

Lucy felt shame wash over her. She couldn't tell Santana. She wouldn't. The knowledge that she had been weak and pathetic burned her: Santana would sneer if she knew how she had cried and let some older girls take her photos.

So she set her jaw and snapped, "Just drop it, okay?"

Santana didn't know what to say to make it better, or if there even was anything to say. She looked back down at her music box and then, without another thought, pushed it towards Lucy.

"Here. You can show this."

Lucy tentatively reached out and took the music box. The moment Papi's treasure left her grasp, Santana immediately felt a stab of selfishness. She didn't want to give it away. Lucy hesitated only for a moment, she turned the key and watched the ballerina dance to the sweet melody. She smiled.

"It's Papi's. He gave it to me last night when the doctor came over."

Lucy nodded, but Santana knew her words were mostly lost on her friend. She watched Lucy wind the key again, entranced by the tiny dancer. "You'll give it back to me sometimes, won't you?" asked Santana in a small voice, certain that their friendship meant enough to Lucy, that Lucy would be big enough to sigh, sound regretful, say "Yes, of course," and push the box back to its rightful owner.

(She didn't know how to face Papi otherwise.)

To Santana's surprise, Lucy's fingers gripped the music box tightly with sudden possessiveness and jealousy. Her perfect family photos were on the roof somewhere, if not sailing through the wind never to be found again. The proof of how much Santana's Papi loved her though was sat in her hands, playing that song Lucy's mother had sung to her once. She watched the ballerina dance and closed her eyes to better remember her mother's sweet voice. A penny for a spool of thread, a penny for a needle. That's the way the money goes, Pop! goes the weasel. She'd hiccuped maybe once or twice through it, sitting on the edge of Lucy's bed, the scent of her perfume thick in the air.

But it was beautiful just the same.

Lucy's eyes narrowed, and she clutched the music box like it was the photo album. Like it was hers now.

"You can't give something and take it back," she told her friend coolly. "If you really want it... prove it."

That was it. That was how it all really started.

"Are you game?"

The unwanted sob choked in Santana's throat. Cold fingers of panic gripped her. She didn't want Lucy to feel bad again, but the music box had been hers. It had once been Papi's.

"Game."

Santana quickly pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil from her desk and got to work. She was shocked that Lucy had challenged her, the music box was hers after all. But she could play this game, she could play this game and win. The thought excited her and she felt a rush of adrenaline run through her as she pushed her pencil across the paper. Prove it? Challenge accepted.

It wasn't long before she heard her name being called as she was summoned to the front of the class for those blissful five minutes in the spotlight. Santana strutted to stand beside the teacher's desk. Despite her unshakeable veneer of confidence, her stomach was doing small nervous flips as she looked around the classroom. First at Lucy, then the other students, Mrs. Appleby, and then back to Lucy. Lucy sat with her head held high, her posture expectant and the music box sat in front of her like a gauntlet. Santana stared at the music box, determined to do whatever it took to get it back. Memorising the inside of the Principal's office was nothing in comparison. Nothing.

"What do you have to show us, Santana?" asked Mrs. Appleby, eyes narrowed expectantly at the little girl. Mrs. Appleby was strict, had the humour of a nun (which was to say no sense at all) and very little patience. The children often wondered why she became a teacher at all. She was certainly not one to cross, it made Santana's heart beat faster with anticipation.

Santana held out her quickly sketched masterpiece in front of her, high above her head. She tried to look innocent, tried to deadpan, but the urge to shoot her teacher a tiny little smirk of satisfaction was too tempting to resist.

It wasn't Santana's best piece of art, but it was definitely Lucy's favourite. Her classmates erupted into laughter, drowning Mrs. Appleby's gasp.

The picture showed a grotesque woman covered in warts, snot dripping from her nose and flies zooming around her head. A speech bubble proclaimed, "I AM MRS APPLEBY AND I AM A BITCH."

Lucy laughed and clapped louder than anyone else, impressed and proud. She had known Santana was brave but until then had never realised just how much. Her admiration for her friend grew, along with a pang of jealousy. If only she could be as daring as Santana.

"Santana Lopez! I will not have such filth in my classroom. How dare you? Take that drawing and go to the principal right now," Mrs. Appleby seethed, cheeks reddening, a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

Santana's smirk erupted into a full blown smirk as she watched the heat rise in her teacher's face. Going to the principal's office was totally worth it.

As Santana walked past her desk on the way out of the classroom, she gestured to the music box, resisting the urge to fist pump. Perhaps it was unfair for her to give Lucy the music box and then take it back, but she had won it fair and square. She'd make it up to her another day. Lucy knew Santana always had her back.

The moment Santana left the room, Lucy raised her hand and asked to be excused. (There was a snigger from the back of the class, because no one ever phrased needing to pee as "Could I be excused?" but Lucy had been taught manners at home.) Mrs. Appleby nodded distractedly, and Lucy ran out of the classroom, music box clutched in her hands. She didn't want Mrs. Appleby to confiscate it if she saw it with Santana, who was meant to be punished.

She caught up with her friend outside, tapping Santana on the shoulder. Lucy silently and reluctantly handed the box to her.

Perhaps Lucy could be as brave as Santana? Maybe she could win the music box back, show Santana that she wasn't weak and pathetic. Maybe even impress Santana - the thought sent butterflies through her.

The game had just fallen into place. If Lucy had the box, Santana would do her every dare. Then Santana would get the box and Lucy would do whatever it took to get it back. Dead simple and lots of fun. A stupid game? Maybe so, but it was their game.

* * *

"'And that way, lives a March Hare. Visit either you like, they are both mad.' 'But I don't want to go among the mad,' Alice remarked. 'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat, 'we're all mad here. I'm mad, you're mad...'"

Santana slammed a hand suddenly over the pages of the dusty book. She sat up, looking carefully at her father. Papi looked tired. Worse. Like he had walked a thousand miles and yet still had another mountain to overcome. His wrinkles seemed deeper, etched into his face like ancient markings in fossils. And since when did Papi have wrinkles at all? Maybe they were more noticeable since he shaved all his hair off or something.

But deep down, Santana knew that wasn't it. She was small, but not stupid. She heard them at night. Whispering. She saw her father getting older, slower, more tired.

"Papi..." Santana hesitated before blurting out, "Are you going to die?"

Santana's father took a breath and fixed his gaze across the room, suddenly seeming to find the opposite wall incredibly interesting.

"I don't read well?" he answered finally, giving Santana a mock-insulted look.

Santana, even at age eight, was the most stubborn person to ever walk through the streets of Lima Heights Adjacent. She'd psyched herself up enough for this conversation already, it was going to happen, whether her Papi wanted it to or not. So what if she was small? They wouldn't hide this from her any longer. She deserved to know. Wanted to know.

Needed to know.

"Are you going to die?"

There was an infinitesimal pause before her father finally responded, "Yes." Santana felt her world collapse. "Like everybody." Papi's wry smile did nothing to reassure her.

Why him? Why her father? Her Papi was a good man. "Is it because of me? Because I'm naughty?" Santana reached across the bed and grabbed the music box. "Here." She picked up the music box and thrust it into her father's lap. The storybook fell to the floor, forgotten. "Ask me to do something good, I swear I will. I'm game."

"Be quiet, mi pequeño diablo," Papi breathed, looking hard at the wall once more.

Santana shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "Not for that."

The old man pulled his daughter into a fierce hug until it felt like the breath was squeezed out of her. "I love you. Nothing else matters."

But he was wrong. So much more mattered. Santana felt a little shame as a smile broke through as she thought about the other person in her life who truly mattered. "Lucy can write with her teeth," she said, grinning proudly. "That matters!"

Her father laughed. "Neither Alice nor your old Papi are as interesting as Lucy, no?" Laughing turned to coughing and suddenly he was slumped over, gasping and breathless. Fear gripped Santana by the throat and she willed away tears she didn't realise were there. But then her father sat up once more, cheery smile pasted onto his wrinkled features, eyes twinkling mischievously. "She writes with her teeth? Easy. And how about with her ears?"

Santana's eyes grew wide with admiration. "Can you? And flick spiders into mashed potatoes? And climb ropes blindfolded?"

Her father's grin grew wider with feigned contempt. "With a glass on my head!"

"No way!" Santana laughed. "I don't believe you."

Again, laughter turned into wheezing and her Papi was curled double over the bed, gasping. Santana's smile turned stony. How much longer would she be able to laugh with her father like this?

But soon her father was smiling that signature Lopez smirk, eyebrow cocked arrogantly. "You think you're the first to play 'Dares'? Mi pequeño diablo, I've been playing games long before you ever grew your horns." He leaned forward giving Santana a conspiratorial wink, kissed her worried brow, and whispered, "Buenas noches."

As her father stood up from the bed, the shifting weight spurred Santana into action. She wasn't ready for him to leave. "Papi, what's the craziest thing you ever did?"

Without any hesitation, he turned to his little girl once more. "Fly."

"Fly?" Santana repeated in awe. "Fly where?"

"Across the sky," he answered simply, shrugging his shoulders as if the action were as simple as making lemonade just the way Santana liked it.

"Wow! Show me! Come on, fly, fly!" Santana squealed excitedly.

"Game," her Papi whispered reverently, slowly raising his arms outwards like wings. Or like Jesus on the cross, Lucy might have said. Santana watched, wide-eyed, as her father wriggled his shoulders and seemed to be readying himself to take flight. The air between them filled with anticipation.

"Later." He shrugged, and the moment passed.

"When?"

"Soon." Papi walked back over to the bed and linked Santana's pinkie finger with his own. "I promise."

But he never did.

* * *

Santana was bored in English. She spoke two languages fluently (three, if you count sarcasm.) What's the point in sitting there talking about stupid nouns anyway? So when Mrs. Appleby said, "Common nouns beginning with 'A'?" Santana let out an audible groan. Lucy gave her a sympathetic look.

This lesson was getting ridiculous: they're eight years old, not toddlers. But what was even more ridiculous was the stupidity of some of their classmates. When Jack put up his hand to answer, Lucy silently started praying that he wouldn't get picked.

He was.

"An animals," Jack proclaimed proudly.

Lucy leaned over, whispering to Santana, "Jack is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot."

Santana snorted, but when Mrs Appleby shot her a glare, she hastily faked a cough.

"Animals! An animal, two animals!" Mrs Appleby sighed exasperatedly. "Anybody else? Mary?"

Mary, the class geek, adjusted her glasses and announced, "Apricot."

"Very good! Apricots!" Mrs Appleby beamed with pride. Mary smiled back. Lucy rolled her eyes.

It made Santana want to throw up, with the result that now she was both bored and nauseated. Time to make things a little more interesting. She leaned across to Lucy and winked. "Are you game?"

This was it. Now it was Lucy's turn to prove that she could be as brave as Santana. She worried her lip as she watched Santana tap her fingers against the music box. She wanted it so badly. She screwed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath.

"'B'"... Nouns beginning with 'B'...?"

Lucy finally opened her eyes and slowly raised her hand in the air. "Game."

Mrs. Appleby looked over expectantly at the pair. "Yes, Lucy?"

Lucy's heart pounded erratically, but she ignored it and gave the teacher her most angelic smile. "'B' for... big dick, bonk..."

Santana's jaw fell open wide. Never in a million years had she thought Lucy would go through with it. Lucy, the clever Christian girl. But she was, and it was amazing. Santana watched delighted as the beautiful disaster unfolded.

The whole class was in uproar. High-pitched, stunned laughter hit each of the children like dominoes and soon each was in hysterical fits. Who would have guessed Lucy Fabray even knew these words, much less say them in class!

"Lucy!" Mrs. Appleby's hand clutched at her heart.

But Lucy was unperturbed, blithely going on, "...Beat the beaver, blow job..."

"Enough!" Mrs. Appleby shrieked above the rising laughter of the other children.

Lucy chanced a glance at Santana, and seeing something like pride in her eyes was spurred on with renewed vigour. "...Bug-eyed baboon, bitchbag... beat it, bitchbag!"

The laughter exploded once more. "Lucy just called Mrs. Appleby a 'bitchbag'!" the children repeated to each other in stunned awe.

Mrs. Appleby slammed her hand down on Lucy's desk, making her jump. "Do you think you're funny, Miss? What language! I'm giving you zero. 'Z' for zero! We'll see if the Principal thinks this is funny too."

Santana grinned and slid the music box across to Lucy's desk, already planning what mischief she could cause to win the box back again, certain it would be hers once more in no time. She loved this game. They shared victorious smiles and revelled in the chaos erupting around them.

But the gesture didn't go unnoticed. "Santana. What's going on?" Mrs. Appleby asked, words soaked in suspicion. She did not wait for an answer before exclaiming, "To the principal with both of you!"

They both stood and left their desks and began the now very familiar walk to the principal's office.

"Boner," Santana whispered to Lucy.

"What?"

"'B' for boner," Santana repeated.

Lucy clapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh, balls!"

* * *

Santana and Lucy giggled mischievously as they watched the dancing couples. They were all so stiff and forced, and their clothes were awful. Like they had come from the attic, moth eaten and musty.

But not Lucy, Santana thought. Lucy had the prettiest dress in the room, like wherever she went. Lucy was a vision in her cream coloured dress, the pink ribbon wrapped around her middle perfectly matching the ribbon in her hair and her shoes.

Santana didn't feel the need to comment though. It went without saying. So instead she pointed a taunting finger across the room at Lucy's sister, Frannie, the bride. "Her dress is ugly!"

Lucy sneered in agreement. "So is her guy."

Santana looked over to a nearby table to see Lucy's parents. Russell Fabray wearing an expensive black tuxedo and a doting smile as he watched his eldest daughter dance with her new husband. Judy Fabray wore a large flower-shaped fascinator and the contents of her champagne flute as it poured down her gown as she stumbled over when trying to stand.

Santana cast a furtive glance at Lucy to see if she had noticed, but her eyes were fixed determinedly on the dancing newlyweds. Lucy pondered what true love might feel like and if maybe some fairytales do come true. Frannie was married and escaping from Lima. Getting married might be nice, but Lucy thought she might be just as happy just being with Santana forever. They could get out of Lima and play games all over the world. Places where no one had seen her mom's champagne soaked dress.

They both laughed louder, mockingly, as they watched the groom almost step on Frannie's toes as they danced. "If I ever get married..."

"You'll say 'no' at the altar?" Lucy interrupted excitedly. "Are you game?"

"Game," Santana replied without hesitation. Because honestly, as she looked around, she couldn't imagine ever wanting something like this. The frilly tableclothes, the ridiculous clothes, the stiffness. She'd be much happier just playing dares with Lucy for the rest of her life.

The devilish pair watched the couple dancing for a while longer, and something of Santana's thoughts must have showed clearly across her face, because then Lucy was looking at her again, more seriously than before. "What'll you be when you grow up?"

"A tyrant." Santana matched it with a wicked smirk.

"A tyrant!" Lucy repeated with equal venom. "Bossing people around all night and day?"

"Totally! With slaves and torture every Thursday." Gazing into the distance, she could see it already: people worshipping her power and fearing her wrath.

"Cool." Lucy's grin mirrored hers, pleased at the thought of the chaos they could cause together. Santana didn't need to say so explicitly: she would be there too. They would rule the world, together.

"You?"

"Well, I..." Lucy hesitated, then firmly closed her mouth and set her jaw. "No. It's too dumb."

"Tell me."

"No, you won't like it." The last thing Lucy wanted was for Santana to think her silly.

"I won't. Now tell me." Lucy had her lips pressed in a grim line, equally stubborn, and Santana stamped her foot impatiently. "Tell me!"

Lucy took a breath, uncertain about Santana's temper, but still embarrassed."I'd like to be a picture," she said quietly. "A beautiful picture that brings a smile to your face, or even tears." The words drifted from her like a whimsical breeze. "Tragic, but pretty. And people would stop as they walk past to stare at me. In awe of me."

"A picture?" Santana didn't quite understand. "Like a painting?"

"Of course." Lucy rolled her eyes. "What else? A picture is a picture."

"A picture..." Santana repeated, mumbling. The thought took root, a deep and powerful hold on her mind. A picture... Lucy would make the perfect picture. She wondered why she didn't already have a picture of Lucy on her wall. Maybe she would draw one later. "Yeah, of course, a picture," she said aloud, more enthusiastically. "That's brilliant!"

"You really think so?" Lucy asked, her voice so soft it was nearly inaudible. Santana rolled her eyes, as though it was absurd of her friend to even doubt it.

"Duh, I do."

This wedding was beginning to bore them both. They could only spend so long mocking how ugly and ridiculous everyone else looked before it was time to make things a little more interesting.

Lucy followed Santana's line of sight, noticing the table with the wedding cake. The cake was a four tiered white sugarpaste masterpiece, covered in delicate pink roses that matched the ribbon on Lucy's bridesmaid dress. She was struck by an idea. Turning to Santana, she waved in the general direction of the cake.

"Pull the cloth."

"Game."

Santana's answering smirk was as cocky as she felt, her heart pounding in her chest. She loved this game. The rush was addictive. She wanted to bottle this feeling and drink it all day, every day.

Quietly, she tip-toed carefully over to the cake table, looking around to see if anyone was watching her.

No one but Lucy.

Her friend's eyes were wide with anticipation, admiration and something Santana was still too young to comprehend.

Santana gave the tablecloth a quick hard tug. The cake teetered dangerously. It was so close to the edge of the table, but it didn't fall.

"It has to fall," she heard someone say from behind her, turning to see Lucy. The other girl's eyes were bright and flinty, completely unafraid, and Santana said simply:

"Now you. Harder."

Lucy placed a hand on the table to see if the cake would wobble, if anyone would notice. She knew that even one tiny pull of that tablecloth would send the cake tumbling to the floor like a tower of Jenga blocks.

And she couldn't wait to watch this beautiful disaster unfold.

She looked at Santana, eyebrow cocked. One tiny hand fisted around the linen.

"Game."

The cake smashed to the floor. Santana watched with a mixture of pride and pure bliss.

That was the first wedding The Game destroyed.

* * *

Beep.

Santana really liked the shiny parquet floor. She thought about taking off her shoes and sliding across it in just her socks rather than walking, but from the serious look on her Mami's face she could tell that was a bad idea.

Beep.

The room was eerily cosy, as if they were in someone's sitting room. There was a large comfy armchair seated beside a small mahogany table. Santana sat down on the chair and sank into the soft cushions.

Beep.

A top the side table there was a large bouquet of flowers in a delicately hand painted vase and cards, also decorated with flower designs, that said things like, "Thinking of You", "Sending you Happy Thoughts" and "Special Thoughts and Prayers". Her Papi didn't even like flowers.

Beep.

In the centre of the room, where Santana's eye was both immediately drawn to and repulsed by, was large metal bed on wheels. A sharp reminder that they were not in someone's sitting room. No one she knew had beds on wheels in their sitting room. That was just dumb.

Beep.

Her Papi lay on the bed. His skin was chalky and dark circles underscored his eyes. He was almost unrecognisable. There were strange lines of plastic trailing from Papi leading to bizarre machines that Santana knew would haunt her nightmares for years to come, with their incessant beeping.

Beep.

"Papi," she called out, leaning forward in the chair. Mami had said not to wake him and to let him rest, but she so badly wanted to talk to him. To fill the aching atmosphere with her Papi's laughter and drown out those horrible machines.

Beep.

Papi's eyes fluttered open and Santana watched as they searched her face confused and dazed, as if he didn't know who she was. After a difficult moment, his lip curled into a smirk and his eyes twinkled once again. "Mi pequeño diablo..."

Beep.

"You'll get better!" The words came out with more conviction than she felt. She snuck a hasty peek at the greetings cards on the side table. None of them said 'Get Well'. "You'll get better," she insisted. "Are you game?"

Beep.

Papi's smile was sad. "You don't have the music box, Tana. It's not your turn to dare."

At once she said, "I'll go get it." Spinning on her heel, she turned to leave but Papi reached out, grabbing her wrist. His grasp was weak and frail for the first time. Santana could easily yank herself free. But she didn't.

Beep.

"I'll go later. And then you have to show me how you fly."

They exchanged small smiles and unspoken vows. Santana sank into the chair and watched her father's eyes drift closed again. He didn't look as comfortable as Santana thought he ought to, being surrounded by so many pillows. These would be perfect for a pillow fight with Lucy.

Beep.

As if the very thought had conjured her, suddenly Lucy was in the doorway, holding the music box. Santana stood and walked over to her, shoes clicking on the shiny floor with each step, out of time with the horrible machines.

Beep.

"What are you doing here?"

Lucy didn't answer. Her face was bright, her eyes hopeful. It was all too much. A metal bed on wheels in a sitting room? Flowers by her Papi's bed? And now Lucy grinning like she had earlier that day at school. But they weren't at school now and she shouldn't be grinning. No one should be.

Beep.

"Leave me," Santana ordered her. "You can't understand."

Lucy's face crumpled, and the smile switched off. "Sure... I'm only good for playing." She bit hard on her bottom lip as tears began to seep into her eyes. She wanted to help. She wanted to make Santana smile again. But she was only good for playing.

Beep.

Lucy looked at the music box in her hands. Perhaps The Game could help? "Hop on one leg for an hour! Are you game?" She shoved the music box into Santana's hands without waiting for an answer.

Santana wordlessly took the music box, turned and hopped away. She didn't see Lucy leave or the moment just before when she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

Beep.

Santana had been dared to hop for the next hour, and so she would. She hopped across the room, using the parquet squares as markers. Daring herself with each jump to see how far she could go. Making promises aloud that she hoped someone, somewhere could make good on. Making deals with fate.

Beep.

"I hop two and Papi gets better."

She bent her knees and powered herself across two parquet tiles, landing on one foot. She did it. Papi will be okay. Her smile was wide and hopeful.

Beep.

"I hop three and he comes home for my birthday."

Santana leapt across three tiles and landed a little more unsteadily, almost falling. But she had done it. For a moment, she let herself daydream about the mischief that she and Papi would get up to with Lucy on her birthday. Maybe Papi would teach them how to fly!

Beep.

"Four, and he's home tonight. Totally better."

The child jumped, stumbled and fell.

.

* * *

Just like there had been flowers by his bedside, there were now flowers at his graveside. Santana knew it was all wrong. Papi didn't even like flowers. But her Mami had insisted in buying a reef with the word 'Papi' written across in garish gold letters despite her protests. Santana watched as the coffin sank lower and lower into the ground, her father inside and those flowers on top.

Women in black cried loudly in Spanish and Santana cursed them internally. Relatives she had never seen before wailed like banshees. Their profuse outpouring of grief would make anyone think he had been their personal saviour. She cast her mind back and thought hard, but still she didn't recognise their faces in any of the memories she had of Papi. That woman wringing a lace handkerchief in her hands had not been there the day Papi had taught her how to fly a kite. That solemn looking man with the thick eyebrows had not been there the night Papi had held her in his protective arms so that she could reach the pinata he had hung in the too tall tree. Who were these strangers, and what made them cry so loudly? These imposters made her heart reach for memories she didn't have, pieces of her Papi she could never hope to know.

She looked to her Mami. She could be mistaken for stone if not for the tight grip she had around the ring on her left hand. Her fingers white with pressure, twisted the wedding band in continuous circles, as if it could turn back time and conjure its partner's owner back to life.

Santana's own grief was silent, tears falling from her eyes without her noticing. She was numb.

Then from the corner of her eye she glimpsed a vision of bright colour standing atop a nearby plinth. Santana looked up and smiled to see Lucy, holding party poppers and wearing a rainbow coloured coat. She could not have looked more out of place and soon the sea of people wearing black began to notice the colourful, smiling girl watching from above them.

Lucy and Santana locked eyes for a moment before Lucy gave a wink and Santana rewarded her with a small smile. Then Lucy burst into song.

"'Round and 'round the cobbler's bench. The monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought 'twas all in fun. Pop! Goes the weasel." Lucy pulled hard on a party popper and sent colourful streamers into the air to fall on the mourners below.

They mourners below gasped, chided and shouted at the girl above. Lucy could make no more sense of the English insults they cried to her than the Spanish ones. But she ignored them, instead focusing only on Santana, whose smile grew brighter, gratitude in her eyes.

Lucy, spurred on by the crowd's rage and Santana's smile, grew louder. "I've no time to plead and pine, I've no time to wheedle. Kiss me quick and then I'm gone. Pop! Goes the weasel." Another party popper burst open and showered the enraged people below.

Santana's grin was now in full force and she clapped as Lucy took a curtsey. In years to come she wouldn't think of those awful flowers, but of her best friend throwing a party from above just for her.

* * *

"Good evening, Mrs. Lopez," Lucy said politely when Santana's mother opened the door, but she didn't quite have the nerve to meet her eyes.

Santana's Mami didn't like Lucy Fabray all that much. Too many times she had been to the school and had to talk to the principal because of things that Santana had done encouraged by that Fabray girl. Of course, her daughter was not blameless, she knew that. However Lucy definitely had a role in their dynamic duo and shared at least part of that blame.

But when Mami had seen the way Santana's face had lit up when she had needed it most, despite how furious she was with the girl she also felt grateful. That is why that night she had allowed Lucy to stay the night.

"Buenos noches, Lucy." Maria Lopez's smile was strained, but for reasons that had very little to do with Lucy this time. "How are you? How are your family?"

Lucy stiffened, but her ingrained good manners forced her to answer, "Quite well, thank you." She hesitated a moment before adding, "Daddy sends his condolences."

Maria's eyes softened. She wasn't such a bad kid really, she had a lot going on for a girl her age. Poor thing. "Go on up, Tana is in her room."

Lucy stepped through the front door and rushed up the stairs leaving behind the awkward echoes of her conversation with Mrs. Lopez on the porch. She pushed open Santana's bedroom door without knocking and was greeted with an immediate smile waiting for her on the other side.

Santana's room was small, cluttered and overwhelmingly red. Like a matador with a red flag baited the bulls of Spain, Santana's room demanded attention, not unlike the girl herself.

Santana held up the music box. "Yo SingStar, I think this is yours now." It was the only reference either of them made to the events of earlier that day.

Lucy walked across the room to sit close beside her on the bed, legs touching and arms brushing. Lucy thought about hugging her but decided against it, she was probably sick from having to hug people all day.

Santana put the music box into the other girl's lap and released a sigh she didn't realise she was holding. The weight of all her Papi's memories were lifted from her as the box left her own hands.

That night they laughed about how their games infuriated Mrs. Appleby, teased one another about who had the best singing voice and spent some time just laying side by side together, watching the tiny dancer on their music box. Because even Lucy had rightfully earned back its possession with her party poppers and loud song, they both knew that truly, the box belonged to them both now.

Later, as they each laid at opposite ends of Santana's single bed, she whispered, "You asleep?"

Lucy groaned. "Officially, yes."

"Rumour has it that you pretend," Santana teased.

"Yes, so I read in 'Cosmo'. Pure gossip," Lucy deadpanned. "Now, goodnight."

"Tomorrow, can I sleep over at your place? Can I?"

"No. Never. Never come to my place. Promise me," Lucy demanded, her tone suddenly so vehement that Santana stared in surprise.

Oblivious to anything Lucy might be trying to convey, Santana remained eager. "Why not? It'd be..."

"Promise!" Lucy cut in, harsher.

Santana had only seen Lucy look that serious once before. The day with the ugly drawing and the angry teacher. The day The Game had started. The day Santana had given Lucy the music box because she had nothing else to show, except her sunglasses. Or what was hidden beneath them.

"Okay then," she said quietly and the suddenly dazzling smile she was rewarded with in return from Lucy that put everything else to bed.

They fell asleep to the tune of the music box, each dreaming of the memories it evoked and the mischievous adventures that they were yet to share.


End file.
